


Raise Our Glasses One More Time

by LoonyFish



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-09 16:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyFish/pseuds/LoonyFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin finds it strange that his earliest memories are now 'ancient' history, and how a simple song can bring those memories flooding back again like a tidal wave. Maybe taking time to reflect will help him come to terms with how soon his and Arthur's final curtain call may well be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raise Our Glasses One More Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [h_d](https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_d/gifts).



> So here you go hart_d! I hope this fills your prompt and you enjoy it. Thank you to the lovely people who helped Beta this and to the lovely Micky for helping me with my panicking today.

> The night draws in and the sky starts to fade,  
>  There’s no place to be and no debt to be paid,  
>  Your favourite songs plays sweetly in your ears,  
>  A testimony to love and to the freedom of the years  
>  That fly by without warning  
>  Till the final sun’s dawning,  
>  And you run.
> 
> The open field ahead of you is suddenly endless,  
>  The sky is now open and you’re flying careless,  
>  Around you the world is changing  
>  And you’re warm and free, the possibilities never ending  
>  Despite what you’ve been told about tomorrow  
>  And the anticipated levels of heartbreak and sorrow.  
>  You’re brighter than the sun.
> 
> You build plans of the future, a new life in your head,  
>  Forget about the worries and the woes around the bend.  
>  It’s like the world is new once more,  
>  A moored ship loses its anchor  
>  And everything is soaring, breaking away  
>  From the finality of death at the end of the day.  
>  You’re you. And it’s wonderful.
> 
> And then his hand’s in your hand  
>  You’re back with the boy from the dreamland  
>  He takes out your headphone and the music entwines your heart  
>  It felt like the end but now you’re back at the start.  
>  His golden hair is shining like starlight,  
>  A smile spreads across your face without a fight  
>  It’s just another date, but it means the world to you.  

Merlin finds it strange that his earliest memories are now ancient history, and how a simple song can bring those memories flooding back again like a tidal wave. Sometimes, he thinks, it is easy to forget how old you are and how long you have been in the world, especially when you reach his age.

Arthur, of course, never forgets. He always likes to reminisce about “the good old days” when the lads were still young and they could joke about everything together, when the days were endless and they were free.

It saddens him sometimes, but usually he manages to stay positive. They’ve had a good life, they really have. It wasn’t easy, yet sometimes it’s probably better that way.

He laughs at himself. When did he become so wise? When did he become so knowledgeable in the ways of the world?

“What is it?” a voice came from next to him, pausing the CD that had just come on. It startled him, like it always did, to find someone sitting beside him.

“I was thinking.” He replied, a soft smile playing at his lips as he turned to look at Arthur, the source of the voice. Despite his age, Arthur was still as gorgeous as ever. It was inevitable really, that Merlin would be the one to go grey first, to get more wrinkles (“ _Laughter lines, Arthur! Laughter lines!”_ ) and to generally grow old less gracefully, he’d never been the graceful one. But it still shocked him all the same to see the man Arthur had become. “You talk a lot,” he said after a while, “About what our lives were like, what we did, who we met.”

“And…?” Arthur pushed. He too was smiling now, he could never seem to stop himself if Merlin was smiling too.

“You should write it down.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” A third voice interjected. It was their son, Mordred. An orphan of the war they had been made to fight who they had clung onto and never tried to let go of. He had his own family now, a wife and twin girls (Freya and Mithian), but he’d still come down to Devon every weekend to visit his parents.

“Excuse me!?”

“I’m serious! You tell the best stories, both the girls think so anyway, and it’s not like you’d have nothing to write about! What about that time we first met…”

_Arthur had always been outdoors-y. His father owned a massive house by the seaside that they stayed in every summer, and he even owned some of the beach. The lads (Gwaine, Leon, Lance, Percy and Elyan) would go down there every single year without fail and have the time of their lives. There was football to be played, caves to be explored, fishing to do, surfing to try, so much stuff they could never fit in all into one year. They were largely independent, with them having a separate chalet at the end of the garden (more like field, but to boys used to living in such places, it was just a garden) where they had to cook and clean and keep things nice all by themselves._

_On a quiet Tuesday morning, Arthur woke up first. They were 16. They’d been drinking the night before but he was the only one who had kept it low key and had drunk enough water for it to all balance out okay. This year, he’d managed to pull the short straw of sharing a room with Gwaine, who could snore for England even when he hadn’t been drinking, so add in a few beers and he was a foghorn._

_He opened the fridge, hoping to find something that would flush out his system once and for all. No such luck. Glancing blearily round the kitchen he remembered bleakly that last night’s drinking game had had something to do with emptying the whole fridge and scattering it half-eaten half-destroyed around the room until there was nothing left for them in the morning. Great._

_He went back to his room, trying not to wince at the sight of Gwaine sprawled out on his front, his hair covered in something Arthur did not want to touch, drool running down his chin where his mouth had fallen open, and still fully dressed only without the addition of his left shoe which had somehow made its way onto Arthur’s bed since he had left it five minutes previously._

_He went to pull on last night’s shirt, before realising there was… yes, on closer inspection that was vomit on his shirt, and as he tried not to gag, he pulled a clean shirt, pair of trousers, pants, and socks out of his wardrobe before leaving the room with as much haste as possible. Teeth brushing, he decided, could wait. His stomach was becoming more impatient by the second and he needed food._

_It wasn’t really a long walk into town, he’d done it plenty of times before, but on an empty stomach with no one to walk with it seemed to take hours rather than a few minutes. It was, it appeared, later than he expected. The little village was already a hubbub of noise and movement, people milling around everywhere chattering together. Mr Frobisher, the greengrocer, gave him a smile and a “Good morning, sir” as Arthur stopped by to get an apple but turned back to his newspaper before Arthur could engage in conversation._

_It was strange. Everyone seemed to be reading the days newspaper, and if they weren’t they were talking animatedly to someone who was. The older men looked pleased, proud of themselves, the women looked terrified, the boys looked… he couldn’t even figure that out._

_Turning back to Mr Frobisher, Arthur said,_

_“Excuse me, Mr Frobisher,” and when Mr Frobisher looked up he continued “Why is everybody reading the newspaper this morning? Is it a day of importance I have missed, sir?”_

_Mr Frobisher looked up at Arthur, his previously bright and cheerful smile changing suddenly to one of sadness and horror before he said “How old are ya, son?”_

_“Sixteen, Mr Frobisher.”_

_He laughed, a soft quiet laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes and then said “Heaven bless you, son, you’re gonna need it. There’s a war coming, spreading across Europe like the plague and there ain’t nothing we can do to put a stop to it.”_

_“War, Mr Frobisher?”_

_“Indeed… but I’m no source of knowledge around here. There’s one boy who lives three doors down above the butchers – renting out the place so he don’t have to live with his parents anymore, smart lad – he’ll tell you what’s occurring, nosy sod he is but a good lad all the same.”_

_“Er, thanks, Mr Frobisher… I think.” He muttered under his breath._

_He carried on walking, taking a few bites out of his apple before stopping outside the butcher’s. He needed to go in there anyway, hoping beyond hell they had bacon otherwise he was sure he would cry. However, he sacrificed his bacon and went instead to knock on the door slightly to the left of the shop. It was a blue door, with no knocker and no number, and didn’t seem to be that strong either._

_Arthur waited. And waited. And waited a little while longer before he heard footsteps thudding down a flight of stairs behind the door. It swung open, and a bright eager face appeared before him, piercing blue eyes staring at him with mild confusion and something else Arthur couldn’t quite place._

_“Can I help you?” the boy said._

_Arthur stopped. He couldn’t put together a sentence very well when his head was drunken mush (at least, that was the excuse he told himself, it had nothing to do with the fact that the boy was topless and actually rather attractive and Arthur so wasn’t gay…) “Er… sorry, Mr Frobisher said something about asking you about the war?”_

_“Mr Frobisher had no right…!” the boy growled, “Look, go home, Arthur.”_

_“How do you know my name? I’ve never met you before in my life!”_

_The boy sighed, but was smiling again now after his previous outburst. “I’m such a… eugh.” He was laughing though, he obviously didn’t mean any of it, “Let me grab my shoes, okay? Then we’ll go for a walk.”_

_The door closed once more in Arthur’s face. Arthur stood there, blinking in surprise at the abruptness of the end of the conversation. None the less, he waited. The boy had intrigued him; not only because he knew about the war, but because of something else too… something he couldn’t quite put his finger on._

_The boy appeared a few minutes later, his jacket round his shoulders and some proper shoes upon his feet. He gave Arthur a grin, held out a hand and said “Sorry I forgot to introduce myself, my name is Merlin Emrys.”…_

“We walked for miles!” Merlin laughed, “Went round the town at least three times, you even forgot about your stomach.”

“I did not forget!” Arthur exclaimed, “I was just too intrigued with what you were saying.”

“What was he saying, dad?” Mordred asked. He had sat himself down on the rug in front of the fire, crossing his legs like he was a school boy once again.

“I was telling him what was to come. About the war…”

“We don’t mention the war.” Arthur growled suddenly and Merlin stopped talking.  He knew what Arthur meant. They’d made a rule, both the wars were off limits. They’d been through them together and only just survived, and Arthur hated the memories. The friends he made, the friends he lost, the families destroyed. They’d almost been torn apart, more than once, as both wars had raged across Europe.

_They were sent out to France in 1916, two years after they had first met. At least, Arthur was sent out to France. Merlin wasn’t really supposed to go, wasn’t meant to follow him out there. But he did._

_Somehow, they had ended up in the same regiment. Neither of them knew how, neither of them knew why, they just knew that from that moment onwards they had to protect each other till the very end, no matter what the cost._

_And it did almost come down to that._

_Their friends fell all around them. They tried their best to keep in contact with Gwaine and Leon and all of the others but it was too hard._

_Alone but together in the harsh thrill of the bugle horns and cannon roars that filled their ears and  the  ears of many like them they headed across no man’s land in the final days of the First World War. Bombs were dropping all around them, shells raining down on them like angry hornets searching for their next victim, soaked to the core in drying blood and mud and horseshit from the poor beasts that had been sent to help them, and they were given the order to climb the trench._

_“It’ll be okay, Arthur, just you wait. I can see it, I can see our survival just like I saw the rest of this blasted war, I promise you we get out of here alive.”_

_But Arthur’s skin was a ghostly shade of white, his eyes fixed on a point far into the distance; Merlin thought he must just be dreaming of home._

_“They said, didn’t they, that this was our last one. When we make it out of here, we’re going home and we are never coming back to this god forsaken place.”_

_Again Arthur didn’t reply, and Merlin just turned away with a sigh, hoisting his bayonet onto his shoulder in a final attempt to make himself look smart before he hurtled towards hell._

Merlin shook himself out of it. There was a reason they had agreed to never talk of those days again, to force themselves to move on – never forgetting, but never actively remembering unless they had to – because it broke their hearts. So many lives were lost that day, so many of their friends never returned home like they had, so many of them falling, led by maniacal leaders with a false sense of security that the war would be over within months; they couldn’t afford to dwell on what was passed anymore.

“I guess from there on in we were everything to each other, right Merls?” Arthur was saying, trying to pick up from the lull in conversation where Merlin had gone off into his own thoughts.

“Right.” Merlin replied, still partly immersed in the memories of those days. They’d never fully leave him; he guessed that any brush with death would stay with anyone for their whole lives, and most of the men who had been there had lived with it forever.

He felt a hand on his own and looked up to see Arthur staring intently into his eyes. There was a question there, one they had asked each other a number of times, reading it in their eyes and answering it with no words either. A silent “ _Are you okay, Merlin?”_ came from Arthur, “ _Those times are gone, we’re safe now_.” And he replied with a small nod and a smile, one they knew was fake but accepted anyway.

“I guess the Second World War could have been worse.” Arthur said after a moment, “We were veterans by then; we weren’t really supposed to fight so we didn’t.”

Merlin laughed, “No we danced."...

_The outbreak of the Second World War opened old wounds in many a man who had been left alive from the previous war. They scoffed in the pubs, mocking their leaders who had promised them the last war would be the war to end all wars and then turning around and spitting in their faces. They would look at boys walking into the pub, ordering drinks and telling one another how grand the battle would be, and they would laugh. They knew the truth. It was cruel and it was painful but at least they didn’t sugar coat any of it. The glory of battle. The horrors of death._

_For months it continued. Arthur and Merlin moved out to the house in Devon, permanently offering it out as a home for any wounded service men and women. It kept them close; they’d probably never been as close as they were in the years they spent there during the war._

_It was there they held their pretend marriage ceremony. A few friends came (including all but Elyan who had never returned home after the previous war), and they pledged their vows to each other in their backyard. They couldn’t do anything official but they didn’t really care. A commitment from the heart was better and worth more than any scrap of paper. They had drinks that day too. Lemonade produced by Guinevere (who had been basically adopted by them since Elyan had been lost), then they danced. Arthur, of course, had enough contacts so they could hire their own band, who played all their favourites well into the evening._

_The next Saturday, the local ballroom reopened its doors for the first time since 1939. The owner, Gaius Smith, had attended Arthur and Merlin’s ceremony the week before, and had seen how happy the dancing had made everyone._

_“People need that kind of happiness, Arthur.” He said with a shrug when Arthur asked why he had reopened. “I hadn’t seen that kind of happiness since the war began, so I thought I might as well give it a go.”_

_From then on in, Arthur and Merlin visited the ballroom every single week without fail until Arthur was called to join the RAF. It made them happy, holding each other close and moving with the music as the band played behind them. No one seemed to mind either, which was always nice. They’d had their fair share of abuse in their time, but the war brought out a new side to people; acceptance and tolerance for all because they never knew when it all might end._

_One Saturday evening they went dancing, same as always. Their favourite song was playing sweetly in the background, a jitterbug the Americans had brought over with them that had them bopping all over the place. They stood together in the middle of the dance floor, with pride of place as always, when the sirens sounded._

_Arthur watched as Merlin’s face fell, as he took him by the hand and led him off towards the shelter in the basement beneath the ballroom. The raids weren’t as bad where they were as they heard about in the city, but the sirens went off anyway, you could never be too careful where the Nazi’s were concerned._

_Huddled together beneath the ballroom, Arthur heard a sniffle from where Merlin was tucked by his side._

_“Hey?” Arthur whispered quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them, especially if Merlin was upset, “Hey, Merlin, what’s the matter?”_

_He listened carefully for a response. The chatter around them was noisy, and one of the musicians (who had broken all the rules and brought his saxophone down with him) was beginning to retune his instrument in the corner, ready to strike up a tune to drown out any falling bombs._

_“Merlin?” he repeated when there was no response. He pulled away, cupping Merlin’s face in his hands and wiping away his tears with his thumbs, “Talk to me, Merlin, please.”_

_Merlin huffed, “You’re going to laugh at me, Arthur. It sounds pathetic and I damn well know it!” but when Arthur just kept staring intently into his eyes, he knew he had to continue, “Ever since your father moved down here… I’ve hardly seen you! And then the other night…” he trailed off. He knew how close Arthur was to his father, how deeply rooted the respect went, and he had no idea whether his and Arthur’s love was strong enough to break through that bond._

_“The other night…?”_

_“The other night I went to serve your father supper,” he’d started now, he might as well finish, and just pray for the best, “He… he got angry. Said I had defiled your family. That I was dirty and impure because of the…” he trailed off, glancing at Arthur to see if he understood. Tears had begun to fall down his face again but he fought through it, “I thought tonight was going to be our one night together, where I can hold you close and not have to let you go and then this rubbish happens and I feel so stupid but…”_

_“Shhh, Merlin.” Arthur cooed softly, pulling Merlin back to him, “He had no right…” he growled to himself. He loved him father dearly, they had only had each other for many years before Morgana came back into their lives, and they were very deeply tied to one another; but his love for Merlin ran deeper, he knew that more than anything else. “Merlin… Merlin I…” and then, breaking every single boundary they had ever put in place in order to keep the abuse they received down, he kissed Merlin. It was supposed to be sweet, a fleeting kiss to apologise and to show his love in a far easier way than if he had tried to word it; before he heard a soft moan escape the back of Merlin’s throat and  felt his lips part slightly and the kiss deepened._

_After a few moments they pulled away, red faced and a bit worse for wear and the room had gone silent. Arthur glanced around and saw everyone staring at them, but before anyone could say anything he turned to them and said,_

_“Sorry about that, I feel this air raid has quite ruined our evening.”_

_He did, indeed, gain a few giggles from some of the ladies and most of the men just rolled their eyes and turned away. The guy from the band started up again and beneath a small ballroom in Devon, people began to dance again._

_“You are everything to me, Merlin. Now come on, let’s dance…”_

“You two are sickening!” Mordred laughed, bringing back three mugs of tea from where he had slipped off to the kitchen to make them each a mug.

“We are not!” Merlin giggled, his eyes crinkling at the sides, and for a second Arthur saw the youth he used to be.

“We had a lot of fun though.”

“Yeah things got I want to say better from there on though, but that sounds rather cruel, I guess it became easier. Pendragon Senior passed away just before the end of the war so that was the end of the abuse from that angle.” Merlin said, smiling again now after the sadness that had washed over him whilst recounting the hatred shown to him by Uther.

“It was kind of sad really,” Arthur said, “All he wanted was to see the end of the war. He fought in the first, and was damn proud of himself too, but he knew it had to end before the whole world ended. He lived a good life though, your grandfather did.”

“I’ll take your word for that, dad.” Mordred replied, “I didn’t get a chance to know him.”

“No you appeared on our doorstep on the very last day of the war."...

_“You know, Arthur,” Merlin yawned as they lay together in bed watching the sun rise over the sea, “This blasted war has done some amazing things, but it’s also done some very…”_

_“What was that?!” Arthur demanded, sitting up suddenly._

_“Arthur! I was talking!”_

_“Shh…” he paused, listening out intently for something, waving his hand in Merlin’s face in an attempt to keep him quiet. Then it came again. A high pitched wailing sound. It wasn’t like the sirens that blared out across England every day until the threat of the planes were gone, it was more…_

_“Arthur, that’s a baby’s cry.”_

_Arthur turned to look at Merlin, shock written all over his face. “A baby…” but he was cut off by the crying again. “Why would there be a baby crying in our house?”_

_Merlin smiled (he always still smiled when Arthur described anything as theirs), before turning his thoughts back to what on Earth was going on. “Come on,” he said, “It’s not in our house, but it’s somewhere very nearby, and we need to find it.” He slid out of bed, pulled on a pair of trousers then headed off in search of the mysterious noise._

_“For Christ’s…” Arthur mumbled, following Merlin’s example and padding down the hallway after him. “Merlin, where the hell have you…” he stopped. There in the doorway stood Merlin, and in his arms a wriggling bundle who was gurgling away quite happily as Merlin rocked it._

_“Read this, Arthur.” Merlin said, not turning to face him but handing him a letter addressed to “The Pendragon’s”_

_He opened the envelope and began to read out loud, “Dear Merlin and Arthur, you don’t know who I am, and I intend to keep it that way, but in your arms I hope you now have my son, Mordred. I know this is a lot to ask, but the war has taken many normal situations and turned them on their heads. I hope you understand that I did not wish to do this. I love my son very much, yet my husband has done things that will not be forgiven and we all will be punished for it. I have enclosed his birth certificate and nothing more. I wish for my baby boy to grow up surrounded by love, and I hear that you both will be the best two people in the world to do so. If not, and I fear this may be the case, then place him in an orphanage and tell them nothing but that you found him. He need not know anything of his parent’s lives because we have done many bad things, and I hope more than anything that he does not turn out the way we did.  
Thank you, a million times, thank you.”_

_He stared down at the piece of paper. There were no words to describe what he was thinking, his brain was simply a wash of ‘what on Earths’ and ‘what are we going to dos’ that just couldn’t be answered._

_“We’re keeping him right?” Merlin said after a few minutes, “We can’t just leave him!”_

“That is not how it happened!” Arthur cried, “You’re making it out like I didn’t care about the baby at all!”

“Fine,” Merlin sighed, rolling his eyes at Arthur while Mordred hid a giggle in the background, “If you’ll let me continue…”

_“No, we can’t,” Arthur said with a grin, “But let’s just take it one step at a time okay?”_

_Merlin beamed at him, his whole face lit up with more joy than Arthur ever seemed imaginable..._

“It was a big change though, wasn’t it?” Merlin said with a soft smile, staring into the fire Mordred had just lit for them, “It took a lot of adjusting and we needed a lot of help! It’s not that you were a naught child, or a bad one,”

“Far from it!” Mordred cried with a laugh.

“You just wouldn’t believe how little two grown men know about looking after babies!”

“Morgana helped a lot and forced Gwaine into it when she had to, and Gwen was such a star too. They all chipped in really, we wouldn’t have made it to this point without them.”

“That’s not quite true, Arthur,” Merlin said, “You made a fantastic father – making up for the pretty damn awful way your father treated you!”

There was no response to this. Merlin knew he had been treading on dangerous ground but thought maybe Arthur would be able to deal with it a bit better after so many years. Obviously not.

They sat in silence for a while, all sipping their tea and staring awkwardly at nothing without making eye contact with one another.

“You did have some laughs though, right? I mean after I grew up and moved away, I’d always come back to the sound of giggles from one of you if not both. What about the time you got those trousers!"...

_It’d had been years since they had found Mordred on their doorstep. They’d pulled him through school, sent him to university, he’d moved away and began his own family. But Merlin and Arthur carried on just being themselves, living and dreaming, taking each day as it came until they had settled back into a new routine, their lives post-Mordred._

_They’d lived through war after war, the Cold War still a massive threat on their doorstep, playing on their minds every moment of every day, not paralysing them but it was there none the less. Didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun though._

_It was 1973, Merlin and Arthur were both into their 70s yet still acted as if they were 21 again – making up for the time they lost during the First World War. Arthur had been working in the garden (which was becoming more of a forest than ever) all day, Merlin had agreed to help too but had vanished three hours previously and not returned._

_He was humming to himself, a tune he had heard at the cinema the previous week when they decided to go out for a date for the first time in months, when he heard the click of the back gate. He didn’t turn around, despite the fact he knew exactly who was standing behind him and, if his absence was anything to go by, Merlin had something he desperately wanted to show Arthur, and Arthur decided that Merlin should probably be made to wait. He heard a huff of exasperation come from Merlin, but again decided to ignore it and cut the last few rogue branches from the tree._

_After a few minutes, Arthur placed the shears down on the ground and got up. His legs were much more tired these days, they did not appreciate being in a crouching position for such a long period of time, and he was sure he actually heard them groan as he made the ascent from the ground to standing. He turned on his heels, a habit ingrained into him in his time fighting for King and country that could not be removed by anything or anyone, and let out a startled yelp as he faced Merlin._

_For Merlin was standing there, a grin plastered onto his face, his arms stretched wide in a bright green suit (matching trousers and jacket, obviously), a luminous orange, open necked shirt and “Is that an afro wig!?” Arthur spluttered, blinking rapidly in a vain attempt to make the colours glow a little less._

_“It is indeed!” Merlin laughed, twirling himself round so Arthur could savour the delights of his new found outfit, “What do you think?”_

_“It’s hideous!”_

_“It’s fashion!”_

_Arthur stood watching him, his mouth hanging open in complete horror. They’d never really been up with the times as it were, both believing they were getting too old to wear the latest fashions and delve into the trends of the youngsters. They knew full well that this was the sort of thing Mordred would be wearing (probably without the wig though) but still this was_ Merlin _. Sensible Merlin who only ever wore smart trousers and jackets, and polo shirts, and the occasional scarf because for some reason his neck couldn’t keep itself warm._

_“What in the world made you think that was a good idea?”_

_“I didn’t,” Merlin said simply, “This isn’t actually mine, don’t you worry, we’re going out to dinner tonight and we’re supposed to be dressing like the youths of the day, remember?” his smile had faded slightly now. If Arthur had forgotten he would be devastated, Merlin knew that. Arthur’s memory was slipping away, and it did sadden him slightly, but it just made Arthur angry because he couldn’t understand it._

_“That’s today?” Was all Arthur said though, “I thought it was next week! Ah well, I’m just going to have to go how I am I’m afraid, I haven’t had time to, er, dress up.” He was smirking, as always. Merlin looked utterly ridiculous and obviously knew it. “I can always rely on you to put a smile on my face, Merlin, you can be sure of that. Though maybe take off the wig?”_

_“I bought a fake moustache just in case you said that…” and he walked off laughing into the house as Arthur’s face dropped once more._

“Tell me why we always end up here?” Merlin muttered as Arthur and Mordred laughed hysterically at the photo Arthur had pulled out of the album on the shelf. “Just because it turned out it wasn’t a fancy dress party and it was just Gwaine’s idea of a joke…”

“Because, Mr Misery-Guts,” Arthur tried as he gasped for air in between the laughter, “After all your doom and gloom I wanted to show our son that we have had fun despite the fact we got old.”

“And to prove that Uncle Gwaine was always the funniest member of the family.” Mordred added in cheekily, knowing that would probably be the final straw.

“Right, that’s it!” Merlin cried, a soft smile on his face now, not taking too much offence from what Mordred was saying, “I think it’s time for bed, don’t you? We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“You better write this as a book,” Mordred said a few minutes later as he was slipping on his coat, “Either of you could do it.”

“Maybe… Could be our last project together, Merlin?”

Merlin nodded in quiet agreement, “Write down our own legend before we vanish completely. See you Wednesday, Mordred.”

And as Mordred wandered off into the night, his car dumped somewhere in town as he liked to just walk places, Merlin couldn’t help but wonder if their story could indeed become a brand new legend, or would they, like so many before them, be forgotten for the rest of time. 


End file.
